Snowy Commute

It snowed a few inches last night.

Who let a little snow get in the way of bigger plans? Not these guys.


Not me either.

Happy Friday everyone.

Do Unto Others

Wow, a lot has happened in the world over the past week. Japan. Gadhafi. Sadness & yuck. The earth is a hurting place.

All things considered, things aren't too bad here in Omaha. In fact, Spring is only days away, some local group rides are already taking advantage of extended daylight and the recent warm weather has prompted Bryan Redemske to spontaneously tweet that he's shaving his legs once more.

Blood on the tracks: I did not bring my A-game with the razor today. Eesh.

So with all of this local wholesome goodness, I was surprised to receive a grouchy-toned email today from everybody's good buddy, Shim. He was ornery. Pesky even. I wondered why he was acting out. Perhaps three days of traveling-- of being away from his wife & children, of subsisting on a steady diet of cheeseburgers, of sleeping in hotels infested with bed-bugs, and of missing his bicycle -- had something to do with him lashing out at me today.

When someone's hurting, I make it a task to find something to cheer them up. Like it says in the good Lord's book, "Do unto others as you would have others do unto you."

Resolved, I looked for an opportunity to put a smile back on old grumpy's face. I found it at the bike rack at work. In the very spot that Shim normally locks his bicycle, somebody's bike was already there, and it was in dire need of chain maintenance. I mean, check out the rust on that thing:

Fortunately, I had an oil can in my locker. I fetched it immediately.

Now before anyone (I mean you, Munson) says anything about the inappropriate use of 3-in-One on a bicycle chain, I want to draw your attention back to the picture above, especially those orange hues. That's some serious oxidation going on there. At this point, even a snot-rocket to that chain would have even been a lubrication improvement.

So anyway -- Munson -- when I apply chain lube, I don't hold back. In this case, I doused that thing liberally with half the can. It just soaked it up like sponge. I put on a second coat. Then a third. I didn't quit until a puddle formed beneath the bicycle. Now take a look at that:

Keep in mind that I have no idea who owns that bike, but by-golly, that chain sure looks much happier now. And because the bike is parked in Shim's normal spot, I bet he'll gets all the credit.

There you go, Shim, a good deed done in your name. Cheer up, buddy. Go ahead, you know you want to smile.

Happy Friday, everyone.

Barry Manilow's Eurotrash Wardrobe

A few weeks ago during a cold group ride, Mark Savery (Mod) commented favorably on my 'eurotrash tights-over-booties' look.

tights over booties eurotrash look

I suppose eurotrash is cool. Then again, most Europeans don't think showering is cool, so I can't be absolutely certain.

That Mod said something positive about my cycling fashion was a real feather in my cap. I mean, Mod's the guy to turn to when it comes to looking good kitting up. He reads all of those eurotrash cycling magazines and has great taste in gear. His bikes are well-equipped and are always spotless. He eats a steady diet of twigs and berries, believes in colonic cleanses and shaves his legs. But I doubt he shampoos his hair. Eurotrash? Absolutely.

Recently on the 622 REALM, Mod shared about his sock & hat fetish.

In this day and age of custom team kits about the only way to have some sense of individuality is by selecting your own socks and hats.

Taking Mod's cue, I stamped my own sense of individuality with a hat selection on last weekend's group ride.

At ride time, it was 19F and I was fretting over looking good and dressing functionally for the cold. I managed to piece together an ensemble that was both up to eurotrash snuff while providing excellent warmth for legs and torso.

But I had a problem with my head wear.

A thin balaclava provides good insulation for the face, but doesn't do enough to keep the rest of the head warm. So my solution was to add a knit skullcap. The problem was that my skullcap has got to be the ugliest hat ever made. For starters, it's Miami-Vice teal. Secondly, it has a dizzying array of orange, yellow, blue and green color splotches throughout. But the worst part are its ear flaps. Yes, the 'flaps push the hat beyond simply ugly and well into the hideous-phere.

Here's what the ugliest hat looks like rendered by msPaint.exe

knit skull cap with earflaps in teal, orange, yellow, blue & green splotches

But as I said, it was 19F, and a long, cold winter had already nearly broken me. In a moment of desperation, I convinced myself that my helmet would obscure most of the hat from being seen.

Desperation will drive a man to believe just about anything

I rolled up to about a dozen riders finishing their coffee. Then somebody had a flat to repair before we pushed off. In all that time, nobody said boo about my hat.

A voice in my head reassured me that the helmet was doing its job concealing my secret.

I took a position in the back of the pack as we rolled down the keystone trail. Rotation of the pace line brought me through the rear quarter and middle without a mention of it. By the time it was my turn to pull up front, my confidence had swelled to the point that I totally forgot about the hat and its hideous ear flaps. I took a long pull with a little swagger in my cadence.

You could say I was be-bopping and skadadeling up there.

But as we turned northwest to go to Bennington, a solitary voice called out from the back of the peleton, "Does your wife know that you borrowed her hat?"

It was like being socked in the gut when you least expected it.

It was David Randleman. He rides for the Velo Veloce club. This is important to note because the Velo Veloce team, or 'Tiggers' as they're affectionately known, ride in powder blue and bright orange tiger-striped team kits. Until last year's Futon-Cervelo's tan-on-brown kit, the Tiggers had a very strong claim on the most outrageous kit ever created.

And now I was being called out by a Tigger.

David might as well have asked me if Barry Manilow knew I was raiding his wardrobe.

Which got me wondering if Barry Manilow would let me raid his wardrobe. I could certainly use the help. So I tweeted the following:

Copa-cabana pow -- that Barry Manilow is a one man marketing dynamo!

So anyway, let's recap: 1) I have an ugly hat that needs to be burned, 2) I've been called out by a Tigger and 3) Barry Manilow won't let me raid his wardrobe. Yes, I'm a little hurt. Defensive even. Yes, angry.

I now know what it means to be this guy:


Happy Friday everyone.
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Meet The Frickers

Yesterday evening, I was getting prepared to ride home when I saw that Rafal had wall-posted a Facebook invite for Jonathan Neve to join him for an evening run.

hey dude noah and are going running tonight

Though I wasn't invited, a spontaneous thought popped into my head: flash mob! I quickly decided to join in on the festivities unannounced.

Having ridden the famous UP lunch hour ride with buddies Shim and Leah earlier in the day (image -->), I had plenty of warm clothes from my winter kit to ride over to Rafal's house. Fortunately, I also had a clean pair of sweat pants and running shoes for the run portion in my locker at work. So I gathered up my stuff, kitted up and rode over to crash their party.

The impromptu flash mob consisted of four people: Rafal, Noah, Jonathan and I. I suppose running five miles had something to do with the poor turn out. It was also after work on a Thursday evening and quite dark . And it was 4°F.

Not very many takers for a bike-run flash mob this evening.

Triathletes have a term for bike-run workouts. They're called, 'bricks.' Now if a bike-run is a brick, I suppose it follows that a brick completed in the winter would be a frigid brick, or a 'frick', and it's participants would be known as 'frickers'.

Now I could attempt to expand this section into a bad parody called, 'Meet the Frickers', complete with innuendos of how much fun it is to frick, how good it is for your heart and how the chics really dig it. (They may say otherwise, or attempt to get out of fricking by complaining of headaches, but trust me, they do really dig it.) Regardless, that 'Meet the Fockers' franchise has already run its course and we refrain from entertaining such vulgarities here on Wholesome Steel Cut Goodness.

But just in case, hey RedHourBen, I'm available for casting. And for cheap.

Happy Friday everyone.

The Facebook Before Facebook

In the comments from Monday's post, my brother Murphini said that I had some issues to work out.

To you Murphini, I have a two word response: no shit.

Of course I have issues. What gave it away? Was it the ranting or the public urination?

Anyway, I decided to do a little soul-searching after my big brother's comment. So last night, as I lay my big fat head on my snow white pillows, I reflected about what those issues could be. To quiet the mind, I drew a long breath into my lungs and expelled it slowly. And waited. I did it again. And then waited some more. A good five seconds later, I concluded that I did indeed have some issues. Thankfully nothing too major, like Bryan Redemske's sock fetishes or issues with frosty beards, but really, who among us is free of being a tad unbalanced from time to time?

Rather than brush this wonderful insight aside, I capitalized on the moment and said this little prayer of serenity:

Lord, grant me the serenity to accept the Shim I cannot change,
The courage to change my attitude about Mark Savery,
and the wisdom to ignore all social networking provocations.

And all the voices in my head said, AMEN!

In truth, I felt refreshed while riding in the cool, crisp air this past Sunday. It's good to get out of the group from time to time for a little solitude, to enjoy the peaceful stillness that only a winter day can bring. Don't get me wrong: group rides are still the best, but there's typically one dude in the mix who likes to run his mouth more than Rush Limbaugh. Perhaps that's the original reason why a rotating paceline was created: everyone's got to take a pull.

But in the solitude of winter, you have the time to think in peace. To sort a thing or two out and learn something along the way. On Sunday's ride I learned some things about winter riding, the greatest of which was my apparent need to hydrate more. I mean, did anyone even notice the dark, golden-amber color of the snow? Golly! You would think that I was pissing India Pale Ale right from the tap.

The truth was that peeing on this route was by far the most refreshing part of the ride. It was way more than a simple biological relief. It was cathartic. I mean, it was like, so primal to mark (yes, pun) Savery's territory.

Now it's common knowledge that long before there was ever a Facebook or Twitter, and long before there were petroglyphs and cave paintings, we animals simply peed to mark our social network and boundaries. Peeing was essentially the Facebook before Facebook.

But somehow, today's digital age lacks the same punch that only voiding can produce. By comparison, without that distinctive urine odor that permeates and never ceases, today's social networking is not only sterile, but is soon written over and inevitably forgotten. For example, I present to you this post:

Good pissing on your territory today, buddy!

While there's a chance you'll remember that Facebook stinger, you'll never forget the smell of that tawny stain behind the toilet seat of your first apartment.

What I also learned on Sunday was that it's difficult to hydrate with a frozen water bottle. I've read that there are solutions for this, including using insulated water bottles during frigid rides. I've also read that those insulated bottles suck. A solution for this dilemma is to ensure that the route passes a convenience store to refill from the coffee machine's hot water spigot. The heated water lasts at least 30 minutes in 15F temps at ride pace before beginning to freeze again.

Unfortunately, I discovered this hot water ditty a little too late. And that's the reason why I couldn't complete my yellow fresco in the snow. You see, I had originally planned a much bigger mural on that snowy canvas. Plans that included peeing 'MOD' with a smiley-face next to the date of "01 16" that I managed to squirt out. But the lack of urine in the tank and its dark color could only mean one thing: I was dehydrated I'll have to be better prepared next time.

If for nothing else, Mod, you've taught me the importance of being properly hydrated during a winter ride in your territory.

Hey Murphini, how'd I do? I'd say there's one less issue that I have to work out now.